Such a guest reduced Mr. Kendal to absolute silence, but she did not think he suffered much therefrom, and he was often relieved, for all the neighbourhood asked the young couple to dinner. Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy’s toilette was as good as a play to the oldest and youngest inhabitants of the house, her little sister used to stand by the dressing-table with her small fingers straightened to sustain a column of rings threaded on them, and her arm weighed down with bracelets, and grandmamma’s happiest moments were when she was raised up to contemplate the costly robes, jewelled neck, and garlanded head of her darling.
When it turned out that Sebastopol was anything but taken, Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy’s incredulity was a precious confirmation of his esteem for his own sagacity, more especially as Ulick O’More and Maurice had worn out the little brass piece of ordnance in firing feux de joie.
‘But,’ said Maurice, ‘papa always said it was not true. Now you only said so when you found the bells were ringing for that, and not for you.’
Maurice’s observations were not always convenient. Algernon, with much pomp, had caused a horse to be led to the door, for which he had lately paid eighty guineas, and he was expatiating on its merits, when Maurice broke out, ‘That’s Macheath, the horse that Archie Tritton bought of Mr. Nugent’s coachman for twenty pounds.’
‘Hush, Maurice!’ said his father, ‘you know nothing of it; and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy pursued, ‘It was bred at Lord Lewthorp’s, and sold because it was too tall for its companion. Laing was on the point of sending it to Tattersalls, where he was secure of a hundred, but he was willing to oblige me, as we had had transactions before.’
‘Papa!’ cried Maurice, ‘I know it is Macheath, for Mr. Tritton showed him to Gilbert and me, when he had just got him, and said he was a showy beast, but incurably lame, so he should get what he could for him from Laing. Now, James, isn’t it?’ he called to the servant who was sedulously turning away a grinning face, but just muttered, ‘Same, sir.’
Mr. Kendal charitably looked the other way, and Algernon muttered some species of imprecation.
Thenceforth Maurice took every occasion of inquiring what had become of Macheath, whether Laing had refunded the price, and what had been done to him for telling stories.
If the boy began in innocence, he went on in mischief; he was just old enough to be a most aggravating compound of simplicity and malice. He was fully aware that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy was held cheap by his own favourites, and had been partly the cause of his dear Gilbert’s troubles, and his sharp wits and daring nature were excited to the utmost by the solemn irritation that he produced. Not only was it irresistibly droll to tease one so destitute of fun, but he had the strongest desire to see how angry it was possible to make the big brother-in-law, of whom every one seemed in awe.
First, he had recourse to the old term Polysyllable, and when Lucy remonstrated, he answered, ‘I’ve a right to call my brother what I please.’